


In the dark, I have no name

by museumofbone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museumofbone/pseuds/museumofbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is reeling, he's losing his mind, he's breaking down, but John's here, and John will help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the dark, I have no name

**Author's Note:**

> Should be suitable for young audiences; I just tagged it teen because there's mention of possibly triggering black moods and panic attacks.
> 
> This is my first fic in ages, and my first here, so words of encouragement/ thoughtful criticism are most welcome.
> 
> I don't own Sherlock. The title comes from a Mumford & Sons song.

John climbs onto the bed after Sherlock, a little hesitant. Sherlock is curled up, knees to his chest, facing away from John. His fingers are on his neck; scratching, tearing, clawing.

"Oh, Sherlock," John sighs, and he wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck, until he can feel Sherlock's heart, until Sherlock's breathing slows.

"Oh, my love. I've got you."

Sherlock turns, his body still enfolded into John's chest. His eyes have lost their storm, but his face is sorrowful as he looks at John.

"What's wrong with me?" And then, softly, shamefully, "Why can't I make it stop? The world, John, the ringing. It's too loud again." I want to rip out my own skin and oh, I want it to stop. Please, John.

John breathes out heavily, rests his forehead on Sherlock's. There's nothing wrong with you, I've got you and I'm never letting go, please be alright oh I love you so I love you. Sherlock. 

He strokes Sherlock's face, his hair; his fingers skim the hairline, soft as a breath. "It's quiet here. I'm with you. We're here."  
Come back. I'm here. God, come back to me, please, Sherlock.

Sherlock's shoulders unclench, he swallows hard and turns to hide his face in the crook of John's neck.

John breathes out again, softly, and pulls Sherlock closer.

John waits, and Sherlock waits, and the pounding in his head eventually goes away, and the world is soft and quiet again. And John's there, and John is pale skin and knit sweater and soft, whispering breaths and warmth. Sherlock takes his hand and presses it over John's heart, matching his breathing to its slow, beating murmur. John's here. And John will always be here. 

 

And Sherlock knows he's alright.


End file.
